“The thing is,” Braddon continued, lowering his voice a bit, “I could see living with her, you know? I have to get married—I mean, my mother is after me like one of those Furies in Greek drama, you remember them? Well, she doesn’t have snakes for hair, but really, it’s the same idea. She snaps at me every morning.” Braddon shuddered slightly. “And my sister, Marge, is the same. You’d think she would be happy enough with her own four brats, but no, she’s after me all the time to—to spawn!” he ended savagely.

David weighed the trouble of being urged to spawn against that of being a younger son whom no one would ever want to marry, given his complete lack of income. Still, he was free. He was in Almack’s only because he was visiting his old friend; it wasn’t him that all those hungry-looking young women kept eyeing.

And this Charlotte: She was beautiful, in her own way. She was wearing a rather plain gown, but even so, one could tell that she had a lovely bosom. Her hair was so black that it kept catching the gleam of the chandeliers overhead.

“I think you should do it,” he said firmly. “Look around here. All these girls look alike. Now, if that one can laugh, and she can ride a horse—she can, can’t she?” David paused anxiously. Braddon lived for his stables.

“She rides like a dream,” Braddon said.

David cast another glance at him: Braddon really was far gone. “Well, why don’t you pop the question, then?”

“You think so?” asked the Earl of Slaslow anxiously.

“Definitely,” said his closest friend. “You could even ask her father now; I think he’s in the card room.”

“Oh, no,” said Braddon, lounging back into the corner. “My mama’s been dinning this whole thing into my ears for months. I go in the morning and send in my card, and then I see her pa, and then I see her, and the most I do is kiss her forehead, so I don’t scare her off.”

There was a little pause.

David was feeling sorry for Braddon’s mother. The new earl had a head as hard as brick; David clearly remembered trying to fix certain facts in Braddon’s skull during their time at Eton, just basic ones, like the date of the Battle of Hastings. If you repeated things about eight times, they would stick for a matter of a few hours, long enough for an exam. It was always touch and go. Yet surely asking for a girl’s hand in marriage couldn’t be that difficult.